Last night, the news of the beloved, journey-made, gave the wind: To the wind, I also give my heart. Whatever it be-be.
To that, my work reached that, my confidant I make Every evening the flashing lightning; and, every morning, the wind.
In the curl of thy tress, my heart void of protection, Ever said not: “Of my accustomed abode, recollection be.”
To-day, I recognized the value of the counsel of those dear: O Lord! joyous by Thee, the soul of our adviser be.
In memory of thee, blood become my heart, whenever, in the sward, The fastening of the rose-bud’s coat, loosed the wind.
From my hand, had gone my feeble existence: In the morning, by the perfume of thy tress, gave back life, the wind.
Hafez! thy desire, thy good disposition bringeth forth: The ransom of the man of good disposition, souls be.
